


Werewolves of the Baltimore-Washington Metropolitan Area

by serpentinne



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Comedy, Gen, Mild Gore, Supernatural Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:12:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentinne/pseuds/serpentinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You better stay away from him<br/>He'll rip your lungs out, Jim<br/>But I'd like to meet his tailor</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werewolves of the Baltimore-Washington Metropolitan Area

“You eat Chinese food?”

Hannibal gave him an odd look. “Of course.” He placed the bowl of beef chow mein in front of Will. Home-made, naturally.

“This...is my favourite.”

“It is mine as well,” Hannibal unfolded his napkin and shook it onto his lap with a flamboyant gesture, “especially around this time of the month.”

Will tried to give a polite grin and look solemn at the same time, unsure of what to do with the information he'd only recently been privy too. It had all been so obvious when he thought about it now; he really should have known. He supposed, however, that one doesn't tend to draw conclusions that alter one's own view of the world, let alone of the person to which they are closest.

_Well,_ Will thought to himself, _it's easier to use that word, isn't it?_

“I'm sure you've been paying closer attention to the lunar cycles as of late?” Hannibal asked.

_Person._

“Yes.” Tonight was the night, Will knew. “Listen, if there's, erm...anything you need..,” he offered.

Hannibal chuckled and patted the corner of his mouth with the napkin. “I assure you there is no need to worry, Will. I have been who I am for my entire life. This month will not bare you the same horrors as the last.”

 

Last month, Will had kissed Alana. He'd kissed Alana _Bloom_ and he'd needed desperately to speak to someone, anyone, about the war inside his mind. When he'd arrived at Hannibal's he'd found the door ajar, as if someone had slipped out too quickly to close it properly. After receiving no answer to his calls, he'd entered the house slowly, remembering the gun on his hip. 

A ghastly scene awaited. Pans and glasses clattered to the floor as Will entered the kitchen doorway, Hannibal frantically seeking his bearings by clawing to keep hold of the counter. Long, curved nails prevented him. His head thrown back, Will could not see his face, but watched in horror as Hannibal's small human teeth shivered and shrunk back into his skull, rows of yellow, pointed teeth sprouted from where the others had retreated. 

Hannibal had attempted to stand and make his way toward Will, his leg bones snapping with cracks that echoed through the stainless steel kitchen. It was then that Will broke his board-stiff, held-breath posture. Hannibal lunged at him as well as his left leg would allow, swinging at Will with a wrinkled, contracted hand. “GO!”

 

Will had spent until the next afternoon sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into space. The dogs gave him odd looks, curious, but he found it hard to even look at them.

_Maybe if I can just sleep, then I'll wake up on the other side of this dream._  
His phone rang. Of course.  
“Will? We've got a situation.”

 

 

He'd met Jack at the scene, a gorgeous old house in the Mayfair neighbourhood of D.C.

“The mother survived, but she's been taken to the hospital. Tore her face right up. Never seen anything like it.”

“And the victim?”

“That _is_ something I've seen before. So have you,” Jack pushed open the door to the kitchen.

The body of Jim Warren was displayed on the round kitchen table, skewered through his abdomen so that his back was pinned to the lazy susan.

“He's on there pretty secure. You could even spin him if you wanted,” Price informed them. 

“It's pretty amazing it can hold the weight, really,” Zeller added.

“He took the lungs again?” Will asked.

“Yup,” Beverly pitched in, “ripped 'em out while he was still alive. Just like Cassie Boyle. Except...”

“Except?” Will prompted.

“Except he wasn't opened up surgically. I don't know how, but it's almost like he... _clawed_ his way in.”

“And the mother?”

“Mutilated.” Jack turned toward him, “Face is totally shredded. She's about 90. And blind. We think that's why he let her live.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you,” Will took a step closer to the body and gave Jack a meaningful look.

Jack clapped his hands twice and whistled. “Everybody clear the room! Pronto!”

 

 

Beverly had leaned back against the lab cabinets and crossed her arms. “But the Ripper's never left anyone alive before, not even a witness. And from the pictures of Mrs. Warren's wounds, it looks like they were caused by a dog, but -”

“That is a _monster_ of a dog,” said Price.

“Exactly. The pattern matches but the size doesn't. Besides, who brings their dog along when they go to murder someone?”

Will realised he hadn't been breathing. “The case in West Virginia,” a few people jumped, having forgotten Will was behind them. “London, West Virginia, last month. He killed the witness, John Bolyai. And before that, in New Kent County, he killed Racheal Mathis right next to a highway.”

“The only other time he's ripped into the body like this was with Racheal Mathis,” Beverly added. “After that, with the Bolyais, he used the same surgical precision as always. So why the shifting M.O.?” 

“I don't know. I'd say he's getting bolder, but there's more to it than that; he's getting sloppy, almost as if he's _desperate_. But if just any old organs would do...then why not take them from Mrs. Warren?”

“Do you think the Ripper knew Jim Warren?” Jack asked.

“Jim Warren was a sort of...revenge. The murder itself seems disorganised, but the way he displayed him was triumphant. He knew him, somehow. Find the connection and you'll find the Ripper.”

 

 

Hannibal's car had been waiting in Will's driveway when returned from work that night.

“Will,” his voice greeted him from the darkness. 

Will reached to flick on the light.

“Please, refrain from turning on too many lights, if at all possible.”

Will didn't reply, but crossed the room, half-tripping over Stinky and turning on the small, dim light on his bedside table.

Hannibal looked as put-together as always, his hair perfect. Yet, he looked haggard in a way that Will hadn't witnessed in the past, as if he were recovering from the flu. Will perched on the edge of his bed, across from the chair in which Hannibal sat cross-legged. It felt oddly like one of their therapy sessions.

“Are you alright?” The question spilled from Will's mouth.

Hannibal looked up from staring at the tip of his shoe, his face a mixture of pleasant surprise and curiosity. 

_Caught off-guard. He must really not be feeling well._

“I must admit I expected you to be more alarmed, Will. What you saw last night was no hallucination.”

Will simply nodded silently a few times. “I... _met_ Jim Warren today.”

Hannibal cocked his head to the side slightly, appraising. “I suggest that if you are looking for who killed good Jim, that you speak to his tailor. I've heard he's the very best. Although, I must warn you that after their last encounter he may be less than distraught to hear of Mr. Warren's demise.”

“What -” Will coughed out, his eyes beginning to tear up. He clenched his jaw. “What are you,” he asked through his teeth.

Hannibal leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, his right hand reaching to hold lightly onto Will's left. “I am trusting you with this, William.” 

He then stood up and began pacing the room, fussing with this and that. “I am vilkolakis. Or, in English-speaking cultures, a werewolf. What you witnessed last night was the transformation I must endure on a monthly basis. It arrived several hours earlier than I had anticipated, hence the less than secure conditions in which you found me. I assure you it will not happen again.”

“You eat people.”

“I do what I need to do to survive, Will. You may have noticed that I do attempt to choose the most unsavoury candidates for my purposes. I do apologise for the complications that my needs add to your occupation.”

The Ripper's murders were now simultaneously more and less terrifying. Understanding that they served some sort of purpose besides the satisfaction of a perversion lessened their impact. Understanding that Hannibal, in his other form, was responsible, made the room spin in a dizzy nausea.

“Why the others?”

“You are asking about those I have killed outside of my lunar cycle?”

Will nodded.

“I can usually sense when a particularly difficult transformation is approaching. During those months I find it best to have what satisfies my necessities on hand, rather than wandering to find it.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Hannibal paused his pacing and surveyed his friend. “Are you alright, Will? It is hard to tell if you are taking this well or if you are slipping into shock.”

“Nope,” Will slapped his knees and stood up. “No shock here. Just coffee.” He turned his back on Hannibal and headed into the kitchen.

“It is a bit late for coffee, unless it's decaf.”

“Yeah, well I'm not sleeping tonight.”

Hannibal followed Will into the kitchen and stood with his hands folded in front of him. He rubbed his sore knuckles.

“You don't need to fear me, Will.”

 

 

A question nudged at Will as he proceeded with his (absolutely amazing, as always) dinner.

“Beef satisfies your...necessities?”

“Yes,” Hannibal replied and took a sip of his wine. “Unfortunately, it does not satisfy my cravings.”

Will stared into his chow mein and wondered if the perversion was there after all.


End file.
